


Comminuted

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Starshine Over Beach City: Moments from Steven Universe [31]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s6e14 Growing Pains, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Steven and Greg try to deal with the devastating revelations in "Growing Pains."
Relationships: Greg Universe & Steven Universe
Series: Starshine Over Beach City: Moments from Steven Universe [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523993
Comments: 88
Kudos: 270
Collections: Steven Universe Completed Recommended Reads





	1. Chapter 1

The rest of the hospital visit was a blur. Later, Steven could only remember fragments, snapshots. It was probably better that way.

Fragment: Dr. Maheswaran asking if he was all right, asking if she had his permission to talk to Greg. Steven didn’t understand why she was bringing it up. Couldn’t she just tell his dad? Why did she need to ask? He mumbled yes. Signed a paper, no star over the  _ i _ in Universe, just a scribble. He thanked her, he thought, he hoped.

Fragment: getting dressed alone in the exam room, hoping his clothes would hold him, hoping he could get home before any of this happened again.  _ Maybe it won’t, _ he tried telling himself, but his skin flared pink at the thought, and it took what seemed an endless minute of breathing hard with his eyes closed before his gem quieted and he seemed human again.

Fragment: saying goodbye to Connie, ashamed of everything he’d done, every way he was messing up She hugged him for only a second before she asked if she should stay. His skin felt electrified near her, zipping and sparking, the jolts sinking into muscle and bone and gem. He was so glad she still cared about him. He was so agonized to be near her. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Maybe it’ll be better tomorrow. I’m sorry.” She kissed him on the top of his head ( _ where the fractures are, _ he thought dazedly), and electricity arced through him. He shuddered, and she held him, and haltingly he asked her to go.

Fragment: Greg bundling him out of the hospital room, tugging his jacket straight over his shoulders, leading him out through the front lobby. “Where’d you park, kiddo?” Steven gesturing, Greg walking him step by step to his car. “I’ll drive. Sadie and Shep are dropping off the van for me.”

Fragment: the streets of Beach City passing by, washed out blurs and houses in stark relief, the window open, the wind on his face. His eyes watered. The wind pulled the tears away, dried them from his cheeks. Sadie Killer in the tape deck, his dad humming along, touching Steven’s shoulder at stoplights to check in. 

_ At least somebody knows _ , he thought, and he tried to breathe deeply through the blurring tears.

The car stopped, and Steven blinked in surprise. “We’re home,” said Greg simply, giving him a small, worried smile. His eyes looked puffy, dark circles under them. 

“Dad, are you okay?”

Greg went still. Then his smile bloomed, a bigger brighter thing, and he chuckled warmly. “Steven, don’t worry about me. I’m here for  _ you. _ ” Steven closed his eyes, guilt shifting into something gentler. Relief. Gratitude.

“If you say so,” he said jerkily, trying to remember how to be normal. They got out of the Dondai and Greg handed the keys back to Steven. 

“Here ya go. Thanks for letting me take her for a spin again.”

“Heh. Right,” said Steven, the laugh forced. They both looked away.

They took the path to the house, but as they strode into view of the front windows, Steven remembered the last few miserable days with a burst of horror. “Oh, Dad — I’m sorry. The place is a mess. I just… I didn’t feel like cleaning up. You don’t have to come in --”

“Nice try, Steven,” said Greg, pushing the door open. The open doorway revealed a living room full of empty ice cream containers, discarded food packages, and the freezer door still on the floor in the kitchen where he’d dropped it. Everything inside was thawing. A puddle spilled out onto the kitchen floor, and with a stab he saw the red glow bracelet still nestled amongst expired Cookie Cats, its color dimming.

That sensation, now all too familiar. He shivered, hands flashing pink, a foot swelling up and shrinking back down just as quickly. He kicked off his shoes.

“Steven, it’s okay!” Greg said sharply. He took Steven by the elbow and led him to the couch, and Steven sagged against his father, letting him guide him. “Come on. Take a seat.” 

Numbly Steven followed him, sitting down hard enough on the couch he felt the cushion deform under his enhanced weight. He took a deep breath, struggling. “I can’t do anything right,” he whispered. “I messed up the fridge -- I messed up the house -- I messed up things with Connie --”

Greg hugged him, hard. The pink beneath his skin faded, leaving something that looked like human hands again. He gulped, his breathing ragged.

“Listen to me,” said Greg, still holding him. Steven remembered when he was little, when a hug from his dad seemed to guard him against everything scary. The hug still felt good. But it was a thinner shield than it used to be.

“I know it feels like the end of the world,” Greg said softly. “But it’s okay to make mistakes. No one gets life right on the first try... I certainly didn’t. But that doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Really?” His voice was small, quiet enough that Greg seemed to strain to hear him. 

“It just makes you human, Schtu-ball.”

“Human,” Steven croaked. “Huh.” The word felt foreign, fuzzy, wrong in his mouth. Like it didn’t apply to him anymore.

“Yeah. You might be a Crystal Gem, but you’re also still a Universe.”

“DeMayo Universe,” said Steven tiredly, and this time he smiled. It was small and clumsy, but it was better than the tensed expression his face had seemed stuck in. He leaned against his dad, trying to focus on how heavy Greg’s arm was on his shoulders, how warm he was, how he was solid enough to lean on. It helped.

“See? Spoken like a true human,” said Greg. He gave Steven’s shoulders a squeeze, and lifted his arm away. “Now... you need to rest. Things have been  _ really hard _ for you, and I need you to take it easy. Are you hungry?”

“I dunno,” said Steven, trying to think of when the last time he had eaten was. His face burned, remembering ice cream spilled on the floor.

“Well, let me know when you are, I’ll make something. And then I’ll just do a little tidying up in the meantime. No big deal. Want me to bring the TV down here? We can hang.”

“Don’t go up there!” Steven pleaded. “I’m sorry, it’s such a mess --”

Greg swallowed, looking Steven in the eyes. “There’s nothing up there that could make me think less of you, Steven. Let me give you a hand.”

Steven gulped. If his dad insisted… “Okay. But let me carry the TV for you. It’s really heavy.”

“Deal.”

They walked up the stairs together, Steven’s stomach twisting. If Greg was disappointed in him for the mess he’d left, he didn’t show it. He just cheerfully gathered some of Steven’s movie collection while Steven unplugged the TV and carried it downstairs. He set it up on the coffee table while Greg laid out the videos.

“Anything sound good in particular? We can put something on while I clean up a little. There’s always Dogcopter --”

Steven winced, remembering what he’d watched that morning.  _ Everyone’s getting married but me! _ It sounded so  _ childish,  _ looking back. What had he been thinking? Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes again. He was getting sick of them. 

“No, I don’t feel like Dogcopter,” he managed. “Maybe Koala Princess. It’s been a while.” He rummaged in the tapes and DVDs until he found a season of Koala Princess. He never did wind up giving it back to Ronaldo. He loaded it up and it sparkled cheerfully from the screen in pink and sparkles and giggles. Fine.

Steven pulled up his legs and curled up on the couch. He crossed his arms over his middle and rested his head on a pillow, burrowing into the couch cushions. He was almost comfortable, like that. 

“Steven?” Greg asked, but he’d already fallen asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets to work.

Greg stood by the blaring TV, chipper music and high-pitched koala voices attempting to drown out the pounding of his heart. Steven was fast asleep on the couch in front of him, but he was pink again, his face twisted even as he slept. 

Greg knelt beside him, reaching out and brushing a few loose curls back from his forehead. Slowly, slowly the pink faded from his skin, leaving just his son, looking small and vulnerable in sleep.

Greg stood up, his hands hanging loose at his side, fingers tensing with the urge to  _ do _ something. He settled for going to the closet and rummaging in its depths, pulling out a heavy blanket and tucking it over Steven’s hunched form. Steven’s face shifted slightly, the deep-drawn lines relaxing just a little. 

Okay.

Okay.

He could do this.

He  _ had _ to do this.

He made himself mechanical, a robot like something from one of Steven’s old comic books. He went to the sink, opened the cabinet, pulled out trash bags. He threw down a towel under the refrigerator to sop up the melted ice from the broken freezer. He shoved the freezer door into a trash bag with soup-like Cookie Cats and soft mushy containers of ice cream. He stopped when he saw a glow bracelet, a faint reddish color in the back of the freezer. 

He remembered that day, the parade, when Steven was the car wash boy with bubbles in his hair, when he eagerly ran back to Greg with the bracelet clutched in his hands. “A girl dropped this! She was watching us in the parade and I was waving to her but then she left and she dropped it! She looked really nice, Dad, and she had these cool glasses, and I’m gonna save this for her and find her and give it back to her some day!”

His stomach dropped into his shoes. Steven’s face, pink and huge and scared and so, so lost --  _ I -- I, uh -- I proposed to Connie! _

He didn’t throw it away, even though the glow was fading. He pulled it out of the broken freezer and set it carefully on a dish towel next to the sink. He wasn’t sure what Steven would want to do with it, but he wasn’t going to take that choice away from him.

Greg wiped his face with his hand, casting a quick look back at the couch. Steven was still sleeping, his face and hands still peach, not pink. 

He got back to it. He picked up the wrappers that had landed on the floor, stuffing them into the garbage. He brought the full bag of trash out to the porch. He’d carry it back to the carwash the next time he went home. 

His eyes fell on the stairwell. He was glad Steven hadn’t noticed his reaction to the melted ice cream smeared in a puddle on the floor, the junk food that Steven had insisted he’d outgrown left scattered all over the room, the dirty laundry everywhere. Greg had gasped, but managed to swallow it. He hadn’t seen Steven’s room look like this for years. Steven had been so eager to be more mature, to finally be close to being an adult.  _ How long has he been alone like this?  _ he’d wondered.

_ Half his life. _

And he’d just managed a smile as if Steven’s depression hadn’t just slapped him in the face, if his own guilt hadn’t been choking him, and gathered up some videos for his kid to watch like it was no big deal.

Steven was resting now, though, and that was important, that was good, that was something he could hold onto.

Greg took the stairs up, trash bags and cleaning supplies in hand. He hummed tunelessly as he worked, scrubbing where the ice cream had started soaking into the floorboards, sweeping up potato chip shards and cheesy poof crumbs, getting all the laundry into the hamper, changing the sheets, making the bed. He carefully set the star pillow that had fallen on the floor back on top of the fresh-made bed.

He sniffed. The place didn’t smell great between the stale teenage boy laundry and the curdling ice cream, so he opened the sliding door, letting in some of the fresh air from outside. A few potted plants greeted him on the path to the dome.

Steven had mentioned, off-handedly, something about a Gem issue causing the dome to need some improvements. The dome was repaired now, but Greg looked at the plants on the wooden path, half of them knocked out of their flowerpots, some of them browning and losing their leaves. Steven could have healed them in an instant. But he hadn’t. He’d healed Beach City with nothing more than his powers and his determination, and here in his own home azaleas and aloes stood browned and withered.

Greg felt weak, like his legs were going to give out from under him.  _ I missed so much. _

But he couldn’t think about that right now. If he started, he’d never stop. He didn’t know how long he had until Steven woke up, and he needed to be ready, needed to be there for him in whatever capacity Steven required. He closed the door on the half-ruined plants and finished tidying the room, then hauled the laundry to the washer and dryer. He started the first load.

“Dad?” Steven called from the other room, a note of panic in his voice. Greg hurried into the living room, where Steven was sitting up on the couch looking confused. “I thought -- I thought you’d left without saying goodbye --” There it was again, pink shining in his skin and hair, his eyes wide with panic. Koala Princess’ cloying laughter seemed to skip a few beats, a snarl of electrical interference cutting through the cheery sound.

“Just starting the laundry, Steven,” said Greg, trying to sound reassuring. “You know I’d never leave without saying goodbye.”

“Right,” said Steven, shaking his head, fighting back a yawn. “I know.” The pink disappeared again. The TV was silent before him. He leaned back, his fingers twisting in the blanket.

“Are you hungry?” Greg asked, hoping to distract him.

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah. I guess so.” Steven still looked half-dazed. Greg couldn’t tell if it was lingering drowsiness from the nap, or if it was exhaustion from everything else that had happened today. Steven rubbed at his eyes irritably and started his show back up again, hunkering down in the blanket.

Greg tried to give him a calming smile, but turned to the kitchen before Steven could see the way his eyes watered. He started sorting through the cupboards, pulling out pots and bowls, trying to make himself busy and useful. He reminded himself what he’d thought earlier.

_ You  _ **_have_ ** _ to do this. For  _ **_him._ **


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Steven and the first talk of many.

“Ta-da!” Greg announced cheerily, setting down a plate and joining Steven on the couch. Steven looked down at the food, suddenly ravenous, and turned the TV off. Koala Princess and her dramas would have to wait, though she had at least been a semi-successful distraction from… everything else. The nap had helped, too. The weird distant fuzziness he’d been feeling since the hospital, the confusion, the disorientation, all of it felt a lot better after he’d had a little sleep. He propped up his plate on his knees.

Macaroni and cheese with vegetarian hot dogs stared up at him, with a side of green beans tossed with walnuts and a green salad. Steven raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“When did you start cooking vegetables?” he asked, reaching for his fork and digging in. “You never used to make them for me.” He shoveled a forkful of green beans into his mouth, closing his mouth as he tasted real food for the first time in days. It was simple. But his dad had made it for _him_ , and that was everything.

Greg gave him a nonchalant shrug. “When you started eating them,” he laughed. “I tried everything to get you to eat them when you were little. I’m glad you like them now, though.”

Steven took a bite of the salad. “Well, you know, they’re part of a balanced diet,” he said loftily. His stomach squirmed. _Two pints of ice cream, not so much._

Greg lifted up his pinky finger from where it had curled around his fork. “How fancy of you,” he said in a snooty voice. 

Steven snorted, eating a few bites of macaroni and cheese, half a hot dog. He’d missed this. How long had it been since he and Dad had really hung out? Shortly after the whole Bluebird debacle, he thought. That was weeks -- months? Ago. Without Little Homeschool, his sense of time had gotten skewed. 

A lot of things had, apparently.

Steven winced, the squirm in his stomach growing deeper. No, no, no. He didn’t want to think about what Dr. Maheswaran had told him… didn’t want to think about those eerie fractures crisscrossing his bones like spiderwebs. Scars he couldn’t see. Scars he didn’t even know about.

“You okay, Schtu-ball?”

Steven speared a chunk of hot dog with his fork, then let go of it. The fork stood upright, quivering slightly.

“I dunno.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

He couldn’t bear to think about talking about it. 

He wanted to talk about it so badly.

He groaned, setting his plate down on the coffee table next to the TV. “No…?” he hazarded. “But I think I -- I have to.”

“Well, I’m here,” said Greg, setting his own plate down and leaning back against the couch, his eyes fixed on Steven’s face. “You can tell me anything, you know. “

 _Anything._ No. That was too big of a word, too overwhelming, too massive to even begin to consider. His hands curled into fists, gripping his legs hard enough that his knuckles whitened.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said. 

Greg rubbed his back, his hand familiar and comforting on Steven’s shoulders. “I don’t know either, so that makes two of us. It’s okay. This is hard stuff, Steven. Is there anything in specific that stands out? That you want me to know? I know everything with Connie has been really difficult, but it’s a lot more than that, isn’t it?”

 _Connie recoiling from him in the sand, White’s nails on his gem, the pink dome threatening his friends, the sword through Pearl’s chest, Lars still and gray and silent --_ There were still too many things. How did he pick just one? 

“Yeah, I think it is. I don’t know, Dad,” said Steven, swallowing back frustration. He couldn’t figure out how to organize things in his head. Should he try to go chronologically? Should he talk about the things that scared him the most? Some things he hadn’t even realized _were_ traumatic until this afternoon, he’d been so eager to push past them and be a Crystal Gem. It made his head swim. “It’s… there’s so much. I -- there’s a lot I, um… that I didn’t tell you. When I was a kid.”

Greg’s hand gripped his shoulder harder. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. Or I should have been there --”

“No!” said Steven suddenly, seeing the x-ray again in his mind’s eye. “Dr. Maheswaran said I -- I’d gotten hurt a lot more than I realized. My gem must have healed me every time. But what if you’d come along and you’d gotten hurt more than _you_ already have, with your broken leg and the biopoison -- what if you’d gotten hurt when my healing powers weren’t working, or when I couldn’t help you --” His heart raced, imagining his dad on Homeworld, fighting Jasper, faced with Topaz and Aquamarine. Greg kept rubbing his shoulders, smaller circles to larger ones, rhythmic firm pressure against his back. 

“Okay, okay. I see what you mean. But I’m still sorry! I should have been there for you no matter what was going on, Gem stuff or not,” Greg said vehemently. Steven glanced over at him, suddenly anxious at the way Greg’s voice broke. 

His dad was crying. Not a lot, but the tears were there on his cheeks, his eyes puffy and dark-rimmed again. He sniffed and pulled his hand away from Steven’s back, wiping his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steven stammered. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to scare you --” His hands, clawing into his thighs through the denim, swelled pink and twice their normal size. 

Greg grabbed him by the hand, gripped it hard. His hand looked so small against Steven’s swollen one. 

“Please listen, Steven,” said Greg, leaning his head against Steven’s. His cheek was damp. “It’s not your job to worry about me. I hate to pull dad rank, but I’m doing it. You’re my _son._ That means I’m supposed to take care of you. I don’t care if you have superpowers or not, I’m supposed to worry about you, not the other way around. And look. I might feel bad -- really, really bad -- about some of the things you need to tell me, because it's hard for me to think of you hurting. But for _your_ sake, I need to know how bad it was so I can help you. Does that make sense?”

“I -- I guess.” Steven looked down at their hands. The swelling and the pink glow faded. He pulled his hand away from Greg’s and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. “Do I have to tell you everything? Tonight?”

“Of course not. It’s been like four hours since we got home,” said Greg, smiling slightly. The tears had dried. “This problem is a lot older than that, right? It’s okay for working on it to take time. It might take a _long_ time. And I don’t need to know _everything_ , you don’t have to tell me things you’re uncomfortable with -- but I think I need to know more than what I do now.”

“Right,” said Steven. “That makes sense.” He curled his toes under his feet, pressing them against the wooden floor, trying to ground himself. He still wanted to talk. But he had no idea how to do it without hurting Greg, no matter what his dad said. 

Maybe -- maybe he could start with something small. Maybe that would be safe. “Do… you remember when I turned into a giant cat monster?”

“Steven, that’s something that’s a little difficult to forget. Of course I do.”

His toes wiggled beneath the pressure of his feet. They were starting to hurt, rolled over and pressed against the floor. “I had bad dreams for weeks after that.”

“Why didn’t you --” Greg stopped himself. “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“I kept dreaming I was all kinds of monsters. Sometimes it was cats again. A couple times it was fingers, just hundreds of giant fingers. Once I dreamed my gem multiplied and I had rose quartzes growing all over my body.” He laughed uneasily. “Of course, that was before we knew about Mom being a Diamond, right?”

He leaned hard against Greg. “That night at the car wash, I thought I was really going to be like that forever. You didn’t know what to do, and the Gems weren’t there again, and I was so scared… and I know I told you to use the washer on me, but those cats were still part of my body and it _hurt_ , Dad, the rollers and the machinery and the hot water everywhere, I couldn’t see a thing, and all I could hear was the water rushing and the cats _screaming_ \--”

 _Stop turning pink!_ he thought desperately. His toes throbbed, curled beneath his feet. Why was he putting so much weight on them? He slowly uncurled them and watched as the pink faded from his skin again. There were red creases on his feet.

Greg stared past Steven to the warp pad and the temple, looking distant. “You didn’t come around the car wash for about three weeks after that. I thought you were busy with the Gems.” He looked pale. 

Steven shrugged. “I didn’t want you or the Gems to think I was a little kid,” he said softly. “I wanted to be… brave, you know? I wanted to be like Mom. I was embarrassed for being so bad at shapeshifting. And I didn’t want to tell anyone about the dreams, or think about… how we had to make the cats go away.”

His dad’s voice, hushed. “Oh, Steven.”

He shrugged again. “Saying it out loud… I guess it is kinda messed up. I didn’t even realize it until Dr. Maheswaran asked me if anything traumatic happened in my childhood. I just started… listing all these horrible things that I’d been trying not to think about. And she got this look on her face like -- like she was trying to be professional? But I could still see her eyes. She looked _horrified,_ Dad, and I only told her about some of it…” He rested his head in his hands. “Did she show you the x-rays?”

A beat. A long and awful pause. “Yes.”

“I mean, physically, I’m fine,” Steven said hastily. “She told you that, right?”

Greg nodded. “What did she tell _you?_ ”

This was a concrete question. He could work on that. Easier than trying to pick one thread from the tangled ball of knots to unravel. 

“Um… well, like I said, I’m physically okay. That all the fractures are old.” One hand crept up, rubbing his forehead, trying to find evidence of the breaks he’d seen. But the bone beneath the skin felt just as smooth and solid as ever. “But mentally… She said that it’s like I’m stressed all the time. Like my body thinks almost dying is _normal._ ”

He heard her voice again, filled with concern and kindness, a reminder of how _wrong_ he was. “Maybe that’s just how I am now. Maybe I’m just messed up like this forever?” His voice cracked. “How can I fix this? How do I fix _me_?”

Greg pulled him into a hug. Steven rested his face against his dad’s shoulder, taking deep shuddering breaths. _I’m broken, I’m broken, I’m --_

“You are _not_ broken, Steven.” Had he said it out loud? Or did Greg just guess what he was thinking?

Tears started rolling down his face in earnest. He closed his eyes, listening to his father’s calm voice. 

“Maybe these traumas screwed up your ability to handle stress. Maybe your body is trying to protect you from more and doesn’t know how to do it. And maybe you need some help from people like Dr. Maheswaran.” Greg’s voice was gentle, warm. “But you’re still Steven. You don’t need to be _fixed --_ we just need to help you find healthy ways to deal with this stuff. Does that make sense?”

“Dad?” he choked. “Tell me I’m gonna be okay again. Please.” He hugged Greg hard around the middle, his eyes screwed shut, his wet cheeks leaving damp marks on Greg’s sweater.. 

“Of course you will be, Steven,” Greg whispered. “And I’ll help you get there.”

Steven trembled. “Okay, Dad.” A long, quavering breath. “I love you.”

“I love you, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg doesn't know how to do any of this. There's a few moments where some things he says might be less than ideal, where he's trying to make it up as he goes. But he is trying. And ultimately that is one of the defining aspects of his character - that he loves, and he cares, and he tries, even when he's made mistakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full weight of the day's events finally hits Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Greg sat in the little nook beside the refrigerator, leaning against the pillows on the reading bench Steven had asked for and never seemed to use. He sat there in the quiet house in the dark, the only light the moonlight streaming in through the windows. 

What time was it? Three? Four?

He wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep again.

_How had he failed Steven so badly?_

He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this. Wouldn’t start thinking this way, because if he did, he’d never stop. But Steven was sleeping now, safe at least for the moment, and there was nothing left to distract him from going over the ways he’d failed over and over again.

Thoughts swirled in his head, bits of sound he couldn’t drown out with a song or a platitude. Dr. Maheswaran’s voice, stern and low and furious. _Did you know about this? He’s suffered_ **_grievous injuries._ ** _He looks like he’s been in multiple car accidents -- these are injuries that could have killed him!_

He didn’t have any excuses. Not really. Denial and shock were powerful things, though. _He was always fine! The Gems were there with him, they would have told me -- I mean, he had a black eye once, but that was the only injury I ever saw, I promise, I swear--_

Yet how often had he even been around to see? How often had he pulled back, not wanting to step in and get in the way?

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving, his breathing ragged. He closed his eyes tightly. _Keep it together. What if he comes downstairs?_

But in the dark his mind flashed back to Steven’s ghost-white bones splintered against black and grey -- his Steven sobbing, as huge as a Diamond, as small as a teenager, bent and ashamed on his hands and knees in his underwear -- Steven, so lost he'd proposed to the girl he hadn’t even kissed yet -- Steven, shell-shocked as Greg led him to the car -- Steven, so disoriented he didn’t even notice Greg weeping silently all the way home --

 _How many times was he hurt? How many times was he afraid to say anything? How many times did I tell him not to ask me because it was a_ **_Gem thing_ ** _?_

Shivering, he bent down to retrieve his fourth cup of cocoa for the night from the floor. He took a nervous sip, trying to focus on the way the hot cocoa foamed around the marshmallow. This used to cheer Steven up so quickly when he was little, but he’d barely drank half his cocoa before turning onto his side and asking Greg to let him fall asleep. Greg had waited up near the top of the stairs, watching Steven glow pink for a few minutes in his sleep before gradually fading back to normal.

By the time Dr. Maheswaran had come around to explaining her theories on the pink glow, her anger had mostly burned itself out. Some of that had probably been the way Greg had started shaking. _Look._ _I suspect this is a stress response to chronic trauma. You’ve heard of fight, and flight, and freeze? I think his gem is trying to give him the tools to do just that. He feels like he has to fight every single new stress, or get away from it as much as possible. He needs serious help, Greg._

He pulled out a few business cards Dr. Maheswaran had pressed upon him, different local therapists she thought might have a good rapport with Steven. He’d call some of them first thing tomorrow, see if they took patients without insurance. If they didn’t, he’d find someone who did.

Yet another thing Dr. Maheswaran had been furious about. He winced. He’d been so afraid in those early days that a doctor would take one look at the pink gem in Steven’s belly and try to remove it, or take him away, that he’d never dared take Steven to a hospital. And then Steven had always been fine -- he’d thought --

Hell, _Connie_ had been a more responsible adult than he had.

He was sure things would be okay between her and Steven. She’d been so worried on the phone, direct and terse when telling him to get down there, tender and gentle when talking about Steven himself. _Mr. Universe, something’s really wrong with Steven. My mom’s examining him. He keeps telling me everything’s fine, but his powers are acting up and I think he’s really depressed… How fast can you get here?_ She loved Steven, even if she’d told him no. At least there was that.

He wondered what had led Steven to propose. Steven loved weddings, of course (he’d patiently sat there while Steven showed him his dream wedding book at least five times), but this seemed to have come out of nowhere. 

Then again, all of this had seemed to come out of nowhere.

 _Vidalia was right._ He'd been talking to her once, after they’d started drifting away, when Sour Cream was starting high school and Onion was a newborn, and asked her how she was handling things. He didn’t envy her, going back to the sleep deprivation. She’d just given him an odd, sad look and said that the problems didn’t get easier once a kid got older. “Bigger kids,” she’d said, “just get bigger problems.”

Literally, as it turned out. He remembered hugging Steven’s giant fingertip, cradling it in his arms, hoping Steven could even feel him. He remembered the broken ceiling, the cracks in the walls and windows, a shredded hospital gown. He remembered enormous puddles on the floor, realizing with a horrible twist of his stomach that they were Steven’s tears. 

And that thought was the one that did it, that burst out in a sob that became a cascade of them. Greg curled against the wall, bawling at his failures, at Steven’s injuries, at his son’s terror and lostness and pain. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, into the empty dark. “I’m so sorry --”

Steven wasn’t broken. 

But maybe Greg was.

He didn’t know how long he cried. He only knew his face ached from so much weeping, that his eyes felt so puffy and swollen he could hardly see. Shakily he reached for his cocoa. It was cold, the marshmallow congealing on the surface, and he felt no closer to sleeping now than he had hours ago.

Soft footsteps padded on the stairs. He set down the mug of cold cocoa, rubbing frantically at his face and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Steven?” he asked hoarsely.

“Hey, Dad.” His son descended the staircase, the pink glow preceding him. It faded the closer he got to the bottom of the stairs, dissipating entirely by the time Steven reached the floor. “You can’t sleep either?”

Greg got to his feet, wincing at the way his joints creaked from sitting hunched on the bench. “Nah. It’s been kind of a rough night,” he conceded. He closed the distance between them, pulling Steven into a firm embrace. He was here. He was safe. Holding him like this, he could almost believe he could still protect his son.

Steven leaned into him, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorr--”

“Don’t, Steven. You have nothing to apologize for,” said Greg, putting an equal amount of steel and softness into his voice. “I’m the one who needs to apologize to _you._ ”

“Dad, no --”

The words spilled out of him. “I should have been there for you. I should have lived with you, no matter what the Gems said. And even if I couldn’t hack it on missions, I should have _asked_ you about every one, I should have told you it didn’t matter if I knew about Gem stuff, I should have told you to come to me for _anything._ ” He pressed his cheek against Steven’s, his chest aching. “And I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Steven’s breathing was uneven, his body trembling. For a moment, neither of them said a word.

Then, small, soft, grateful: “I… forgive you, Dad.”

Greg drew back, just enough to examine Steven’s face in the pale moonlight. Steven was blinking away tears, but there was an emotion on his face that for a moment Greg couldn’t place. He’d seen so much fear in his son's eyes today, shame, worry, outright agony. It took him a whole minute to realize he was looking at _relief._

Greg nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he deserved forgiveness. But it felt good anyway.

“We’ll get through this, Schtu-ball,” said Greg quietly. “Together.”

“I know,” said Steven. He smiled, a real one that reached his eyes.

And Greg believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Had to rush to get this out before whatever curve the Crewniverse throws us next after Growing Pains. 
> 
> I just love Greg and Steven to death, okay?

**Author's Note:**

> Comminuted: referring to a skeletal fracture causing the bone to break into more than two pieces.


End file.
